strong objections to the lady
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Shortfic series. If these ladies were typical anything, Eliot would cheerfully eat the designer shoe currently pressed against his throat.
1. strong objections to the lady

**Title**: strong objections to the lady

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Rating**: K+

**Summary**: Leverage/B:tVS. _The conclusion had seemed obvious: a mid-life crisis complicated by a predatory young woman._ 200 words.

**Notes**: For tthdrabbles challenge #106 "it isn't what it looks like". Post-series for Buffy; no particular spoilers for Leverage. Title from a line in Pride & Prejudice.

* * *

><p>It had seemed like such a straightforward job at first glance.<p>

A suspicious bombing incident had killed the leadership of a British firm that dealt in historical research and antiquities; afterward, a disgraced former employee had seized control of all surviving assets and given them over to the American who'd been the catalyst for his dismissal in the first place. The conclusion had seemed as obvious as presented: a mid-life crisis complicated by a predatory young woman.

The older gentleman who'd contacted Leverage Consulting through Sophie had wanted the wayward ex-employee disgraced, the girl and the friends she'd hired to run the firm into the ground ruined, and their assets transferred to several retired employees eager to restore WC Holdings to its former prosperity. A job right in their ballpark. Nate had quickly agreed, and though old Wyndham-Price had made Eliot vaguely uneasy, he hadn't felt strongly enough to object.

He swallowed, feeling the press of a spiked heel over his jugular, and looked up into the offended expressions of the blonde and brunette who'd just handled him like a rag doll.

He must be going soft. He should have _known_ there was more to this situation than first appeared.

-x-


	2. symptoms of peculiar regard

**Title**: symptoms of peculiar regard

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: PG-13/T

**Summary**: B:tVS/Leverage. _If these ladies were typical anything, Eliot would cheerfully eat the designer shoe currently pressed against his throat._ 500 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: Post-series for Buffy; no particular spoilers for Leverage.

**Notes**: For everyone who asked for more of the previous drabble. Title, as with the drabble, from a line in Pride & Prejudice.

* * *

><p>Eliot had never had much trouble drawing an appreciative eye. He took good care of his body, he moved like he knew what to do with it, and he had awesome hair; he'd never be a Sophie Deveraux, but he'd mastered his share of grifter's skills to go with his hitter's repertoire.<p>

The plan for infiltrating the WC Holdings headquarters had been deliberately designed to take advantage of that. The usurpers had set up as a girl's school with a mostly female, twenty-something staff of administrators; Eliot had let Sophie pick his clothes, then headed in with a story about a spoiled, newly orphaned niece in need of strict structure. Between money, hormones, and tragedy, he'd been supposed to be irresistible bait for your typical faux do-gooder.

If _these_ ladies were typical _anything_, though, he would cheerfully eat the designer shoe pressed against his throat.

"I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot here," Eliot rasped, trying on his best charming smile.

Blondie raised a frosty eyebrow in reply. "Check him, Faith. Anyone trying to run a con on Slayer HQ has got to be too dumb to be human."

Whatever the hell _that_ meant. Eliot had no idea how they'd even twigged to him; nothing about their behavior was matching up with the mid-life crisis meets fortune hunter theory Wyndham-Price had sold them.

"You got it, Bee," the brunette replied, stooping to grab hold of him.

Eliot tensed, waiting until Faith shifted her balance forward, then scissored his legs in an effort to drop her to the floor. He jerked his throat out from under Bee's heel before she could retaliate, lunging for the door- but Faith recovered before he could make it that far, clamping his wrist in the steely vice of her fingers. She was unbelievably strong, and she wasn't alone- Bee wasted no time tackling him back to the floor with all the force of a miniature Mack truck.

Eliot hoped Parker had already emptied the safe, 'cause he didn't want to even think what the students elsewhere in the building could do if _these_ were their teachers.

"Had enough yet?" Faith asked, poison sweetness in her voice.

He panted into the carpet for a second, then bared his teeth in a fierce smile. "Just... gimme a minute to catch my breath, here."

Golden laughter was his only reply: and the way his heart was pounding, if circumstances had been different he'd have taken that as his cue to shift gears to another kind of hand-to-hand altogether. He no longer wondered at Wyndham-Price's nemesis, Dr. Giles, for following the blonde like moth to flame; maybe, if they ever figured out what was really going on, he'd come back and try this all again on purpose with her fiercer sister.

That would have to wait, though: it was time to get the fuck out of Dodge before the team did something stupid trying to rescue him.

Eliot tensed, then lunged upwards again, exploding into motion.

-x-


	3. acquit me henceforth of cruelty

**Title**: acquit me henceforth of cruelty

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: PG-13/T

**Summary**: B:tVS/Leverage. _Faith laughed, incredulously. "Dude, you're good; but whoever sent you here totally set you up to fail."_ 1200 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Spoilers**: Post-series for Buffy; no particular spoilers for Leverage.

**Notes**: For MaeveBran, who asked for more of this comedy of errors. Title, as with the rest, from a line in Pride and Prejudice.

* * *

><p>As quick as they'd taken him down, Eliot knew he had little to no chance of actually defeating the two women standing over him. If he'd been one on one with 'em- maybe. But together? He could see the surety in their eyes, their conviction in their own strength, the promise of follow-through in every movement that would end with him a bruised, bleeding heap if he stayed within range.<p>

He didn't like being cornered with no idea what to expect and no planned extraction with any higher odds of success than M. But he did have one advantage: whatever edge these ladies had that let them punch out of their weight class, it was more a matter of force and instinct than exhaustive training. They were ready to act- but they weren't _calculating_, they were counting on speed and power to carry the fight.

He bared his teeth in a fierce, combative grin as he surged upward- then _evaded_, turning upward movement into a low, sidewise lunge, a stumble back, a sweeping duck, and a hard slap to the calf of the blonde the other had called Bee.

Blondie yelped in outrage at the contact, automatically hopping forward- just where she needed to be for his sliding foot to connect with her ankle and send her toppling into the pouty-lipped brunette, Faith. Taking them down separately hadn't worked, but tangling them up left a path clear to the door, and he took it, snagging a hand in the fringe of lacy tablecloth decorating the coffee table in the center of the meeting room they'd brought him to before dropping the act. He whipped it toward them, tripping the blonde up as she regained her feet, and took two long steps forward- then dropped flat to the floor as a freaking _chair_ went whistling through the air toward his head.

Hand-sized splinters of lacquered wood and fabric flew through the air like shrapnel as the chair connected with the doorframe instead of its intended target. Eliot was already rolling to the side before it had stopped falling, brushing away the few lucky barbs that had found purchase in his skin as he moved, and heard the teapot shatter roughly in the space that had been occupied by the small of his back.

Hot, scalding tea splashed the back of one ankle, and Eliot swore, scooping up a massive tome someone had set on the floor next to the floral-upholstered torture device that fell under the loose definition of a 'couch'. He sent it hurtling through the air as he rolled back to his feet, converting all the momentum his body carried into the throw: Faith curled over herself with an _oof_ as the dusty volume labeled 'Vampyr' connected spine first with her stomach. He didn't fool himself it would hold her for long, though, and as for Bee...

He had no time to get out of the way; he blocked her next blow with a deflecting arm, then swore as he slipped back out of her reach, clutching at the sharp stabbing pain that radiated up from the point of impact. The reaction slowed him too much: she followed right on top of him, looking as determined as he'd ever seen Nate over a chessboard or set of blueprints, Hardison over his computer, Sophie in front of her wardrobe, or Parker dangling from a harness in a gallery full of masterworks. Clearly, this was her thing, just as much as it was his, which meant she was probably more skilled than he'd initially thought.

There was a fire in her green eyes that reminded him of Mikel Dayan; her and Faith both, as the brunette sprang back to her feet, rubbing her stomach, and came up at her friend's side.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" he gasped as he kicked up and back over the couch, snagging a standing floor lamp along the way to hurl in their direction like a blunted javelin. The back of the couch caught his foot, and he fell hard, half knocking the breath out of him; a clanging sound prompted a spate of swearing from Bee, but Faith was still free, bounding up and over after him.

She planted a knee on either side of his chest, breasts heaving a little as she leaned forward to plant her hands on his shoulders. "You don't even know _that_?" she laughed, incredulously. "Dude, you're good; but whoever sent you here _totally_ set you up to fail."

"Think I'm beginnin' to figure that out," he panted, knowing the others would hear that through his earpiece; hoping to hear them on their way out by now. "Anyone named Wyndam-Pryce got a reason to hold a grudge?"

That got to the women where nothing else he'd said or done had managed: the smile slid off Faith's face, and Bee's fists were clenched at her sides as she stepped around the couch to join them. Her knuckles were white with the strain, and her voice was quiet and intense with predatory intention as she answered the question.

"Oh, he only _thought_ he did before this," she replied, grimly. "If he sent someone like _you_ here, he doesn't care about the girls or the mission anymore, and I kinda wonder if he _ever_ did. Boy, is he going to regret it."

"So seeing as this is all a misunderstanding," he said carefully, watching her over Faith's shoulder. "Don't suppose we could call this a draw?"

"We're out, Eliot!" a fourth voice suddenly interrupted the conversation, carrying over the Bluetooth earbud miraculously still tucked inside his ear. "Got the files, too. There's some kind of strange protection on them that makes you forget what you're looking for whenever you open the safe, so I had to take the whole thing. You ready to leave?"

The two women's eyes widened as Parker spoke- it was obvious they could hear her, however private the earbuds were supposed to be- then narrowed in instant anger. "How about _no_," the brunette said lowly, staring down at him.

"How about _yes_, Parker- shit!" He grunted as Faith shifted her weight forward, pressing the air out of him as he glanced toward the door once more to gauge the distance. Whatever the others intended to do- when it happened, he wanted to be ready.

Two seconds later the clangor of a fire alarm sounded, and the ceiling shifted from a blank white expanse to a vast cascade of mint-scented water.

Eliot was pretty damned sure he managed to put his hands a few places that would earn him retribution later on in his slippery, squirming escape from Faith's grip- and a few seconds later, he was finally, _finally_ out the door, pelting down the front hall.

Which was framed by more doors. Which opened up as he passed, disgorging several more young women with- _fuck_- equal, unnatural strength-

Within eyeshot of the front door, he found himself once more on the floor, this time with knees in his back instead of heels at his throat.

"Got to tell you," he groaned, half to Nate, half to his bedraggled captors. "This is _not_ the best day I've ever had."

-x-


	4. so immovable a dislike

**Title**: so immovable a dislike

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T, gen-ish

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _Between Angel and Eliot, and whoever Lindsey McDonald was, Buffy wasn't sure any of them were ready for past and present to collide._ 4300 words.

**Spoilers**: Post-series for B:tVS and Angel; indeterminate post-S1 timeline for Leverage

**Notes**: For Syd, for Day 19 in Wishlist 2012, for the prompt: "Buffy is wondering how her boyfriend is all of a sudden working for Angel and goes to investigate and finds out her boyfriend failed to mention he had a twin wandering around." Not exact, due to timeline issues; but pretty close!

* * *

><p>Buffy probably should have stopped being surprised by Angel's stalker tendencies years ago, but somehow it still took her off guard every time she looked up and saw him somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. Especially since they'd both taken a wrecking ball to their destinies, dropping Sunnydale into a pit and taking out the hands- and home base- of the Wolf, Ram and Hart in Los Angeles. They weren't just a two-hour drive apart anymore; dropping by took a little more in the way of planning and intention. And notice, usually. Cell phones: not just decorative accessories.<p>

Maybe having the most awkward timing ever was just one of his superpowers. Buffy's smile froze on her face as she opened the front door of her house, intent on heading out for dinner with her _current_ boyfriend, and spotted her ex pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of a shiny convertible. Why was this her luck? Not that she didn't still feel that mutinous little spark of joy every time she saw him, but they were so _over_ that phase of their lives. If he pulled another vision or scrubbing-bubbles necklace out of his ass, she wasn't going to be answerable for her reaction.

"Angel?" she said, incredulously. "What are you doing here? In front of my house?"

Her first love, and the man who'd dominated her romantic landscape for years even after he'd left her supposedly for her own good, stopped pacing to turn to her with a worried half-smile of greeting. "Buffy, hey! I was just about to come up and ring the doorbell."

"I can see that," she said dryly, slipping one hand into her purse to wrap her fingers around a stake as she descended the stairs from the porch to the driveway. Just as a precaution- in case he was being followed by immediate danger, or happened to _be_ that danger himself. He had a girlfriend again, he'd mentioned once; a werewolf named Nina he'd met during his year with Evil, Inc. What if she'd made him happy enough to slip his soul? He'd sworn that wasn't possible anymore, but he'd said that before, too. "Not that I'm not glad to see you- but you could have called. What's with the secrecy?"

Angel took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Well, it's... you remember how I said I wrapped things up with the Senior Partners?" he asked awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head.

Okay, no; that was definitely not Angelus. He'd always been much smoother- and a much snappier dresser- in soulless mode, and if he was still hemming and hawing an apocalypse probably wasn't imminent. Buffy took her hand out of her purse again and frowned.

"Not so much," she replied. "As in, not so much with the wrapping up; you took out their army and wrecked their building, but they never called in your contract. You said they probably thought they could still use it to get to you, somehow."

"The how's still a little fuzzy, but yeah, that's about the size of it," he agreed. "Can we maybe go inside to discuss it? I'd rather not get into the details out in the open."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. Well, if he was worried about being overheard, that might explain why he'd just showed up instead of calling. Or else he thought she'd hang up on him if he wasn't there to tell the story in person; it could go either way. And neither thought was encouraging. "I'm kind of on my way somewhere, actually. Can't you give me the capsule-y version?"

Eliot would be following her out in a minute, and she wasn't sure any of them were ready for that particular collision of past and present. Her boyfriend knew enough of her history to have a hate-on for Angel sight unseen, no matter how often she explained that she'd had her own share of fault in how things went down, and if anyone fully human could give a Master vampire a run for his money in a fight, it was Eliot Spencer.

That was how they'd met, after all: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's father, angry about his son's death and about what he saw as a "hostile takeover" of the Watcher's Council after the First blew its senior leadership to smithereens, had spilled a sob story to Nathan Ford and his crew of Robin Hoods. Eliot, investigating the girl's school that doubled as Slayer HQ, had been entirely unprepared to face Buffy and Faith... and had _still_ been able to fight them off long enough to get away. Or at least _would_ have, if his escape route hadn't led right down a hall filled with a dozen other Slayers.

He'd been under some kind of misapprehension at first that she and Giles were an item, and had flirted mostly with Faith while both teams negotiated their way into joining forces to take old Wyndam-Pryce and his supporters down. Fortunately, Faith had still been with Wood at the time, and Buffy had been intrigued enough to invite Eliot to spar with her whenever their jobs brought them to the same city. The rest, as Andrew said, was history. They'd been might-as-well-call-it dating for several months now.

Angel's expression downgraded from 'vaguely unhappy' to 'constipated' as he processed her answer. "You might want to cancel those plans. Because the short version? Is that I need you in L.A. as soon as possible."

"Excuse me?" Buffy was taken aback. "How about the slightly less short version? Because there's already a competent Slayer team in the city. It's not going to hurt my feelings if you work with other Slayers, you know, and they know you're not evil. Now. You _can_ ask them for help." They'd all learned a few lessons from his high-handed martyr act, even if she hadn't entirely forgiven him for it yet.

Angel winced. "If it was anyone but Wolfram and Hart... the only Slayer they're going to respect is one of the last two Chosen, and Faith's problematic for other reasons. See, technically, I'm still a member of the Circle of the Black Thorn, since I'm the only survivor; which means I'm still in charge of the L.A. branch of Wolfram and Hart, even though I'm also the one who wrecked it. Which means I still have to put up with a liaison... and their liaison has asked for a joint meeting. Two days from now."

"...and the particular liaison they're sending happens to know Faith?" she filled in the blanks.

"You could say that."

"...and what, I'm supposed to just agree? Angel, I wouldn't even talk to _you_ while you worked there, why would I talk to some evil messenger boy?"

He winced. "I know, it's just... apparently the firm had a contract with the Watcher's Council? I don't have the specifics, but I thought you'd want to do your own negotiating."

Buffy's eyes narrowed; the picture was beginning to come clear, and it was an unpleasant one. "And they didn't contact me last year through their Rome branch because...? Oh wait, you spent a lot of time that year telling your liaisons where to get off, and this way they get to jerk me around and make you eat your words at the same time." The Council had recently done some consulting with one of Angel's old associates, Charles Gunn, on demon-related legal matters, and he'd told some hair-raising stories.

Angel looked nettled as he opened his mouth to reply- but whatever he intended to say next got swallowed up by an incoherent sputter as the front door opened behind her. "I never said he should get off with _you_!" he blurted instead. "I'm going to kill him for this! Again!"

"_Excuse_ me?"

Angel was near spitting with rage. "How'd he get here before me? And how the hell did he convince you to go _anywhere_ with him? Lindsey McDonald is a liar, and a coward, and he's been obsessed with taking me down for _years_, so you can't believe a thing he says."

"And what does that have to do with the price of movie tickets?" Eliot was the only other person at her house that evening, and there was no universe in which it made sense for Leverage, Inc. to be running a con on W&H. Eliot had mentioned they'd worked in L.A. before, and Ford had put the firm on their list of 'jobs too big for us' then. "Am I supposed to recognize that name?"

"You should, because he's standing right behind you," Angel replied acidly, pointing past her.

Eliot stepped up to her side, muscular arms crossed over his chest as he gave the vampire a very unimpressed look. "I don't believe we've been introduced," he said, in a low growl of a voice. "I'm Eliot Spencer. I don't know who this Lindsey McDonald is either, but even if I did, you've got no right to talk to Buffy that way."

He was shorter than Angel- well, a lot of guys were- and wearing a fairly similar outfit of dark slacks and a solid-hued dress shirt with the top button undone, but seeing them face to face, Eliot came off as anything but a second choice. Angel was her past, and gorgeous in his own way, but Eliot blazed with life, from his ridiculous mane of Herbal Essences-commercial hair and intent blue eyes to the roadmap of scars and arsenal's worth of weapons tucked away under his clothes. It was part of the game, de-arming each other after dessert: a mix of laughter and lethality that belonged to a relationship of equals, not the fairy-tale quality of her drama with Angel.

Well... when he remembered to check his protective instincts, anyway. "That's sweet, Eliot," she said brightly, slipping a hand through the crook of his arm, "but I can defend my own honor. But if you feel the need to defend _your_ honor... mind if I take a minute to pop some popcorn, first?"

Angel's eyes darted from her face, to Eliot's, then down to their linked arms, and his expression went cold. "This is low, even for you, Lindsey," he said, focusing on Eliot again. "Stealing my seconds, again? Whatever you thought this move would get you, it won't. You can forget about whatever it was you wanted to discuss. You thought I picked a nasty fight last time? If you hurt her, I will _end_ you, no matter what it takes. And Buffy?" He finally met her gaze again. "I know I probably sound crazy right now, but this man is using you. If you _ever_ trusted me, don't go _anywhere_ alone with him until I can prove it to you."

"Are you blind, Angel? Splattered with some kind of hallucinatory demon blood, maybe? Because I've known Eliot for several months. Whoever this Lindsey is, it isn't him. And if you made all that crap up just to come by and go all Dawson on me _again_ about my boyfriend..." Buffy glared at him. "I'm not your 'seconds' of _anything_."

Angel clenched and unclenched his fists, glaring at Eliot again, then stormed back to his car with the air of someone leaving before he succumbed to the urge for violence.

"So _that's_ the ex, huh," Eliot drawled as the convertible started up and roared away.

"Don't even," Buffy sighed. "That was weird, even for him. I wonder who this Lindsey guy is? He's really got Angel wound up."

Eliot frowned, then tugged his smartphone out of his pocket and hit an autodial button. "Hardison? Yeah, yeah; I know. This shouldn't take long. Can you look up a guy named Lindsey McDonald? Works for, or used to work for, Wolfram and Hart in Los Angeles? ...Yeah, I _know_, this is personal not business. ...That quick? ..._What_? No, you _know_ I never ...C'mon, man, just text me the pic. I'll let you know. ...No, I'll tell Nate myself, when I figure this out. ...Tell Parker 'hi' for me. Later."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and wrinkled his brow as he turned back to Buffy. "First thing Hardison found was his obituary; guy apparently got shot the same night all that shit went down in L.A. And funny thing?" His phone chimed, and he slid his thumb across the screen before tilting it to show the image Hardison had unearthed.

They both stared in at the headshot of a man who could've been Eliot's double, apart from slightly shorter hair and a scar missing from his upper lip. "But that's..." Buffy blinked at him.

"_Not_ me," Eliot growled again, emphatically.

"Then your _twin_ was working for Angel. Hey, wait." One of the conversational asides Angel had dropped caught up to her. "Angel said he was going to kill the guy _again_?"

An _evil undead_ twin, if he was now the Senior Partners' liaison. Buffy was deeply perplexed. Why would her boyfriend's zombie double want to talk to a Slayer? Was it because of Eliot? Was there something about his background Eliot had failed to mention? Or- he'd done something military-ish in his background he didn't talk about; had he run across another Walsh-type? None of the pieces fit.

Eliot's scowl deepened. "I think we got a lot more research to do," he said. "And then maybe I oughta talk to Nate about taking Wolfram and Hart off the no-go list."

Buffy turned to him, sliding her hands up the front of his dress shirt. "Are you sure? This is a demon-y thing, and it sounds like I'll have to get my girls on it anyway. We could just keep you posted?"

"That's sweet," he drawled back, settling his hands above her waist, "but shouldn't you be popping popcorn right about now? Your ex apparently killed someone _with my face_, and now he wants y'all to meet with the guy. Fine, so meet with the guy, with or without Angel. But I'm gonna be there when you do. And for that, I want my team prepped. Something smells really off about this, and I don't just mean the _demon-y_ aspect."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Buffy's mouth. "I suppose you're about to tell me it's a very distinctive smell?" she teased.

"Very," Eliot agreed, then bent down the few inches between their heights to kiss her.

So maybe it was kind of a macho staking-of-the-claim thing. But Buffy found it hard to care; she melted into the touch, then took his arm again as he stepped back and gestured to his truck.

"It'll hold 'til after dinner, though. Milady, your chariot awaits."

* * *

><p>Two days later, with background bickering buzzing in her ear from the comm-bud Eliot had borrowed for her, Buffy sat down in the office of the Hyperion hotel across the desk from a crisply dressed copy of her boyfriend. Angel hadn't shown up yet, but that girl Willow had told her about, Fred, had let them all in... which made three of them in the hotel that had been reported dead, and were still walking around. A regular undead convention. But now wasn't the time to ask questions about that.<p>

Lindsey McDonald had cut his hair again since the picture she'd seen, and he'd taken the earrings out, but apart from that he still looked remarkably like Eliot. It was very creepy McCreepenstein; she kept expecting him to laugh and call Ford in to reveal the con.

"So tell me what Wolfram and Hart wants from me, Mr. McDonald," she said, all her spidey senses jangling at her. It wasn't just that he didn't seem to have a heartbeat, either; Eliot was right, something was really off about the situation. He wasn't just smug; he was _expectant_, and that worried her.

"Not so much you, as The Slayer," he said, opening his briefcase to take out a sheaf of papers. "Didn't you ever wonder where the original shamans who enchanted the first of you got the ritual from?"

The hair stood up on the back of Buffy's neck. She'd been there, in that place between times accessed through the Slayer's Emergency Kit; they'd tried to put an extra piece of demon spirit into _her_, but she hadn't thought to ask that question. No one had; it was just a fact of Slayer history.

_The men took the girl to fight the demon- all demons. They chained her to the Earth._

She lifted her chin. "You're not seriously trying to tell me your masters gave it to them, are you? Why would they just hand a weapon to the other side?"

He snorted, flipping through the papers until he found one with a splattery looking X on the signature line, sketched in a blackened, flaky ink. Blood. "Ah, here." He scanned down the text on the page with a finger, replying to her question in an absent tone.

"It depends on how you define the sides, really; Wolfram and Hart is out to create hell on Earth, sure, but they want it their way. On their terms. And they have a lot of seers on their payroll. The Slayers have always been kind of a loose cannon, but while they might be a minor inconvenience on a day-to-day basis... they have a way of taking out the major competition _for_ the Senior Partners. And the firm barely has to lift a finger. Small investment, large return; that kind of thing's right up their alley."

Buffy stilled. The necklace, that damn necklace that had turned Spike into a ghost; she'd wondered how Angel had gotten away with it. What had he bargained for it, if they'd already intended to have someone use it to take out the First? Or had they been hoping she and Faith would fail, so they could pass it off to whichever Potential stepped up, hoping to have more control over the next Slayer?

...Though, was it just her imagination, or was Lindsey McDonald talking about the firm in the third person plural, rather than first person plural? She _did_ remember a _few_ things from her high school English classes.

She cleared her throat. "You _do_ know I turned down the shaman-y guys when I had a chance to talk to them myself, right? And the old Council's all gone. The active Watchers died when Caleb blew up their building, and we don't have legal access to their assets. So whatever they signed? Is not on us."

"Really? Good on you, Slayer," he said, looking back up at her at last. "Actually, the contract's still active as long as the last curse-called Slayer is active; though you're right about the rest of it. Just make sure no-one's dumb enough to repeat the old oath when you _do_ claim their assets. That's not why _I_ wanted you here, though." He smirked, then crumpled up the rest of the stack of pages and tossed them over his shoulder.

_Now_ they were getting to the point. Buffy squared her shoulders. "I thought so," she said. "Eliot, I think this is your cue."

The door of the office opened, and her boyfriend walked in, dressed in urban cowboy ass-kicking gear. Seeing both men in the same room did strange and inconvenient things to Buffy's hormones; but it also clarified matters a little, dispersing the earlier creepy vibes. Up close and personal, the resemblance was a little less exact; twins still maybe, but not Xerox-copy clones.

"So tell us what your _real_ question is, then," Eliot growled, staring at the other man. "I'm listening."

That was where their planned confrontation fell apart, though; the smirk slid right off Lindsey's face, and he stood up, backing away from the desk. "What the hell is this?"

Buffy exchanged a blank look with Eliot. If _that_ wasn't their play, then what was? Hardison's research had proven both men were from Oklahoma, but they had different birthdates and their childhoods were only superficially similar. If one of them hadn't been deliberately cosmetically altered to match the other, then what the hell was going on? She didn't believe in coincidences.

"Backup?" she quipped. "Lindsey McDonald, meet Eliot Spencer. My boyfriend. Eliot, meet Lindsey McDonald, former lawyer and current liaison for Wolfram and Hart."

"_Eliot_?" Lindsey replied, staring; then comprehension lit in his eyes. "So _you're_ the good cousin gone bad I got mistaken for the last time I went home."

"I don't have any cousins," Eliot denied, glowering at him.

"Hey, not my fault your dad never talked about his sister," Lindsey replied, looking him over from boots to the bandana currently tied over his hair in fascination. "Damn. I thought _your_ sister was on something, when she accosted me. But I guess there is a resemblance."

"You talked to my sister?" Eliot's growl ratcheted up a notch.

Buffy winced and put a hand on his arm. Well, that was more anti than climactic; but there was still another big question to go. "Not the point, Eliot. The point is, what _are_ we all doing here, if it isn't because of some dusty old Slayer contract, or some kind of demon clone thing?"

Lindsey shook himself and refocused on Buffy. "We're all here because of _my_ contract. Actually, Angel's supposed to be here, too. The asshole owes me. I fought on his side in that last battle; I thought he'd actually accepted me on his team. And then he had his man _shoot_ me because I didn't have a _place_ in his future. All I wanted to do was stick it to the Senior Partners- okay, and him, too; but I would've been willing to renegotiate that afterwards- and instead I'm _here_. But he's still CEO, so he can do something about that."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him as she remembered Angel's accusation: _he's been obsessed with taking me down for years, so you can't believe anything he says._ But she couldn't see what his contract had to do with harming Angel. And there was something else:

"And knowing this, the Senior Partners would have sent you to be his liaison _why_?"

"Incoming, y'all... looks like that Angel guy?" Hardison interrupted over the earbuds.

"Let him through, this oughta be good," Eliot murmured in reply

Lindsey noticed none of that aside; he was still staring at Buffy. "Turns out, their little hell dimensions? Can only punish you to the extent you think you deserve. I damn well _know_ I didn't deserve it this time. But _they_ think I'm all productive and coherent again because I've accepted I did wrong, and am therefore obedient again. So everybody's happy. Or _would_ be, if Angel was _here_. All he's got to do is countersign this," he lifted the paper with the bloody signature off the desk again and waved it at them, "and I'm just _dead_, not undead and subject to the Senior Partners' employee retention program. I'll take my chances with the afterlife."

That, of course, was when Angel stormed into the office with a crossbow held at the ready, notched with some kind of a syringe-arrow containing a vilely green liquid. He was already firing it by the time he noticed Eliot standing at Buffy's side; the crossbow jerked to the side as he did a comic double-take, but the syringe had already found its target in Lindsey's shoulder.

"Angel, what did you _do_?" Buffy hurried around the desk, wariness forgotten as Lindsey collapsed.

"Well at least you did it yourself this time..." he said, then groaned, convulsing on the floor.

"It's not like that," Angel said defensively as Eliot knocked the crossbow out of his hands. "He's not dying; kind of the opposite. I've been researching this off and on since Lilah was the liaison; a little Mohra blood, a little disenchanting fluid, it'll just make him human again. No demon powers, and it'll cut him off from the Senior Partners, at least until the next time he gets killed. They'll have to send someone else to negotiate, if that part wasn't just meant to be a distraction."

He trailed off, frowning, as he glanced between Eliot and Lindsey again.

Eliot snorted. "So let me see if I've got this straight. You just pissed off a multidimensional law firm by _poisoning_ one of their undead employees- that you'd killed in the _first_ place- to steal him away from them. All because you thought he was putting the moves on your ex-girlfriend? Sounds a little counterproductive to me."

"I wasn't trying to _steal_ him," Angel replied. "I want no part of him."

"Not... what I recall... you sayin' to me... before," Lindsey wheezed. He'd stopped convulsing and torn his shirt open; the wound had healed to a faint pucker already, but the old bullet scars on his chest had flushed a vivid pink, as if they were fresh. He really _was_ alive again, and whole.

Buffy gave Eliot a questioning look.

"And what do you mean, counterproductive?" Angel complained, ignoring Lindsey.

Eliot nodded to Buffy, then extended a hand to his double, ignoring Angel right back.

"Want a lift out of here?" he said, leaving everything else unspoken: _so you can tell us about this Slayer contract_; _and talk some more about family_; _and prove to us you aren't evil_. Buffy had known him long enough to read all that in his challenging smirk, and more besides.

"Why the hell not?" Lindsey snorted, and took the offered hand. "Not like I have any better plans."

"You can't just _take his side_," Angel objected, indignantly.

An old refrain returned to Buffy: _what are you, twelve_? She sighed, and helped her boyfriend help Lindsey up.

Too bad there _wasn't_ an apocalypse to settle things out again. Their lives could only get more interesting from here.

-x-


End file.
